So true, fo juft, and now fo comfortable ?
It almost turns my dangerous nature wild.
Let me behold thy face: furely, this man
Was born of woman.

Forgive my gen'ral and exceptless rashness,
Perpetual, fober Gods! I do proclaim
One honeft man: mistake me not, but one:
No more, I pray; and he's a steward.
How fain would I have hated all mankind,
And thou redeem'ft thy felf: but all, save thee,
I fell with curses.

Methinks, thou art more honest now, than wife ;
For, by oppreffing and betraying me,

Thou might't have fooner got another fervice :
For many fo arrive at fecond masters,
Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true,
(For I must ever doubt, though ne'er fo fure)
Is not thy kindness fubtle, covetous,
A ufuring kindness, as rich men deal gifts,
Expecting in return twenty for one?

Fla. No, my moft worthy mafter, (in whofe breast Doubt and Sufpect, alas, are plac'd too late,)

You should have fear'd falfe times, when you did feaft;

Sufpect ftill comes, where an eftate is leaft.

That which I fhew, heav'n knows, is meerly love,
Duty, and Zeal, to your unmatched mind,

Care of your food and living: and, believe it,
For any benefit that points to me

Either in hope, or prefent, I'd exchange

For this one wifh, that you had power and wealth
To requite me by making rich your felf.

Tim. Look thee, 'tis fo; thou fingly honest man,
Here, take; the Gods out of my misery

Have fent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy :
But thus condition'd; Thou shalt build from men :
Hate all, curfe all, fhew charity to none;
But let the famifht flesh flide from the bone,
Ere thou relieve the beggar. Give to dogs

What thou deny'st to men. Let prifons fwallow 'em,
Debts wither 'em; be men like blafted woods,

And may diseases lick up their falfe bloods!

And fo farewel, and thrive.

Fla. O, let me stay, and comfort you, my Master.
Tim. If thou hat'st curses,

Stay not, but fly, whilst thou art bleft and free;
Ne'er fee thou man, and let me ne'er fee thee.

[Exeunt feverally.

Enter Poet and Painter.

Pain. As I took note of the place, it can't be far where he abides.

Poet. What's to be thought of him? does the rumour hold for true, that he's fo full of gold?

Pain. Certain. Alcibiades reports it: Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him: he likewife enrich'd poor ftragling foldiers with great quantity. "Tis faid, he gave his fteward a mighty fum.

Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but a tryal of his friends?

Pain. Nothing elfe: you fhall fee him a palm in Athens again, and flourish with the higheft. Therefore, 'tis not amifs, we tender our loves to him, in this fuppos'd diftrefs of his: it will fhew honeftly in us, and is very likely to load our purposes with what they travel for, if it be a juft and true report that goes of his Having.

Poet. What have you now to prefent unto him? Pain. Nothing at this time but my vifitation: only I will promise him an excellent piece.

Poet. I muft ferve him fo too; tell him of an intent that's coming toward him.

Pain. Good as the best: Promifing is the very air o th’ time; it opens the eyes of expectation. Performance is ever the duller for his act, and, but in the plainer and fimpler kind of people, the deed is quite out of ufe. To promife, is moft courtly, and fashionable; performance is a kind of will or teftament, which argues a great ficknefs in his judgment that makes it.

Re-enter

Re-enter Timon from his Cave, unfeen.

Tim. Excellent workman! thou canst not paint a man fo bad as thy felf.

Poet. I am thinking, what I fhall fay I have provided for him: it must be a perfonating of himself; a fatyr against the softness of profperity, with a difcovery of the infinite flatteries that follow youth and opulency.

Tim. Muft thou needs ftand for a villain in thine own work? wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? do fo, I have gold for thee.

Poet. Nay, let's feek him.

Then do we fin against our own estate,

When we may Profit meet, and come too late.

Pain. True:

Poet. While the day ferves, before black-corner'd
night, (28)

Find what thou want'ft, by free and offer'd light.
Come.

Tim. I'll meet you at the turn

What a God's gold, that he is worshipped

In bafer temples, than where Swine do feed!

'Tis thou that rigg'ft the bark, and plow'ft the Wave, (29) Settleft admired rev'rence in a flave;

To thee be Worship, and thy faints for aye

Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey! 'Tis fit I meet them.

Poet. Hail! worthy Timon.

Pain. Our late noble mafter.

Tim. Have I once liv'd to fee two honeft men ?

(28) While the day ferves, &c.] This Couplet in all the • Editions is placed to the Painter, but, as it is in Rhyme, and a Sequel of the Sentiment begun by the Poet, I have made. no Scruple to afcribe it to him.

(29) 'Tis thou that rigg'st the Bark, and plow't the Foam, Settleft admired Rev'rence in a Slave; ] As both the Couplet preceding, and following this, are in Rhyme, I am very apt to fufpect, the Rhyme is difmounted here by an accidental Corruption; and therefore have ventur'd to replace Wave in. the Room of Foam,

H 5

Poets

Poet. Sir, having often of your bounty tafted,
Hearing you were retir'd, your friends fal'n off,
Whofe thankless natures, (oh abhorred fpirits!)
Not all the whips of heav'n are large enough
What! to you!

Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence
To their whole being! I am rapt, and cannot
Cover the monstrous bulk of this ingratitude
With any fize of words.

Tim. Let it go naked, men may fee't the better: (30) You that are honeft, by being what you are,

Make them beft feen and known.

Pain. He, and my self,

Have travell'd in the great fhower of your gifts,
And fweetly felt it.

Tim. Ay, you're honeft men.

Pain. We're hither come to offer you our service. Tim. Most honeft men! why, how fhall I requite you? Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no.

Both. What we can do, we'll do, to do you fervice. Tim. Y' are honeft men; you've heard, that I have gold;

I'm fure, you have; fpeak truth, y' are honeft men. Pain. So it is faid, my noble lord, but therefore Came not my friend, nor 1.

Tim. Good honeft man; thou draw'ft a counterfeit Beft in all Athens; thou'rt, indeed, the best; Thou counterfeit'ft moft lively.

(30) Let it go, naked Men may feet the better ;] Thus has this Paffage been ftupidly pointed thro' all the Editions, as if naked Men could fee better than Men in their Cloaths. I think verily, if there were any Room to credit the Experiment, fuch Editors ought to go naked for the Improvement of their Eye-fights. But, perhaps, they have as little Faith as Judgement in their own Readings. The Poet, in the preceding Speech haranguing on the Ingratitude of Timon's falfeFriends, fays, he cannot, cover the Monftroufness of it with any, Size of Words; to which Timon, as I have rectified the Pointing, very aptly replies;

Let it go naked Men may fee't the better,

Pain. So, fo, my lord.

Tim. E'en fo, Sir, as I fay

-

And for thy fiction,

Why, thy verfe fwells with ftuff fo fine and fmooth, That thou art even natural in thine art.

But for all this, my honeft-natur'd friends,

I must needs fay, you have a little fault;
Marry, not monftrous in you; neither with I,
You take much pains to mend.

Both. Befeech your Honour

To make it known to us.
Tim. You'll take it ill.

Both. Most thankfully, my lord.
Tim. Will you, indeed?

Both. Doubt it not, worthy lord.

Tim. There's ne'er a one of you but trusts a knave, That mightily deceives you.

Both. Do we, my lord?

Tim. Ay, and you hear him cogg, fee him diffemble, Know his grofs Patchery, love him, and feed him; Keep in your bofom, yet remain affur'd,

That he's a made-up villain.

Pain. I know none fuch, my lord.

Poet. Nor I.

Tim. Look you, I love you well, I'll give you gold, Rid me these villains from your companies;

Hang them, or ftab them, drown them in a draught,
Confound them by fome course, and come to me,
I'll give you gold enough.

Both. Name them, my lord, let's know them.
Tim. You that way, and you this;

company:

Each man apart, all fingle and alone,
Yet an arch villain keeps him company.
If where thou art, two villains shall not be,

but two in

[To the Painter. Come not near him. If thou wouldst not refide

[To the Poet

But where one villain is, then him abandon.
Hence, pack, there's gold; ye came for gold, ye flaves
You have work for me; there's your payment, hence!

You